Ignite
by paradises
Summary: AU. She was the school's spitfire beauty and he was the soft-spoken type. For some odd reason, they were the best of friends. But things change once one of them starts falling —hard. /massington/ OoC. :five-shot: / They pull back, shyly smiling at each other and then refocus their attention upon their glasses, and it's like nothing had happened if there wasn't the ohsoheavy blush.
1. un

**a/n: **This was the most voted idea on my newest poll, so here it is. Hopefully, everybody enjoys it. It's only going to be around five chapters, so I'm going to have to squeeze in a whole plot, so hopefully, it's not too horrible. Please leave a review, if you'd like a preview/quicker update, :)

**disclaimer: **I do not own the Clique series, its various characters (except Mrs. Hudson, my OC), or any songs mentioned throughout this story. All rights go to their rightful owners, :) _All_ credit given to jaane tu ya jaane na, a Bollywood movie.

**i **_g _n _**i**_t _**e**_

There is a man brandishing a sword in his dream —the horse rides high, giddy with excitement as its owner smiles beneath the gold plates of protective shield. The horse whinnies in protest, riding down the hills of sand, coming across the barren landscape of a desert, its white mane the only color in the landscape. In the distance he sees a burning day, the incessant ringing of a telephone, and gently leads his horse to the desk, its ebony gleaming in the midsummer daylight, sweat dripping off the closed monitor, wire and cord nowhere to be found. Letting go of the rein of the horse, he brandishes a sword, galloping forward at full-speed, sand dunes in the distance and the mirage of a lake of clean water starts to appear in the far distance. The telephone turns red, a dark crimson shade, and he is jolted from the dream.

Derrick wakes up in a clean white undershirt, marred only by a thin film of sweat and anxiety, and a pair of checkered boxers. He wakes up to see himself in the same iron-wrought chair that his father had passed down to him, through the decades, with a red lamp shining a bright light down on his face, which was in desperate need in a pair of sunglasses; nevertheless, he answered the phone. "—'lo," Derrick says, in a raspy voice, in need of hours and hours of sleep that wouldn't be given. He nods, only saying, "I'll be there," to the other end of the line, hanging up the phone.

He slides on a pair of rugged jeans and throws on a plaid button-down before the old-fashioned, almost archaic telephone rings once more. He presses the ignore button on the alarm, before throwing on his backpack; the building's housekeeper, who Derrick's grown fond of over the years, comes into his room at the slight noise, short grey hair in a mess with a cup of tea in one hand and empty packets in the other. "Derrick?" the old woman says, cautiously.

"It's an emergency," Derrick replies, setting down his backpack and taking out the heavyweight books, that had only grown to be a nuisance over the past six or so years, or however long he's had this old thing.

Mrs. Marvil presses both hands firmly on her hips, setting down the glass of tea on a bookcase, a drop of tea spilling on _Of Mice And Men. _"What about your exams?" she questions, in a demanding tone.

Derrick looks up at her, dropping down his backpack because it's just going to slow him down; he gives Mrs. Hudson a wide-eyed gaze, his penny brown eyes shining deeply, almost glazed-over in an effort to conceal tears. He presses on a Rolex watch, a silver one, a gift from that latest stepmother of his (what was his father one? number ten, by now, perhaps.). "It's Massie," he says, his voice agitated. "She needs me."

He leaves the room, giving a light hug to Mrs. Hudson who turns around with a sigh, wondering how on earth that boy was ever going to achieve his dreams if he kept on running after girls of that sort. Derrick went into the empty street, and called a cab; they were quite available, at least at this time, on the Upper East Side. Thirteen minutes later, he reaches the Block's residence; there, near the dead end of an emptied, silent hallway, stands a girl, her auburn tresses falling limply down fuschia-clad shoulders, the sleeves of a long tee reaching past her fingertips as she stands, faced towards a window, an expanse of wide green acres blocked by an endless amount of trees. Her True Religion jeans, the lucky pair, don't seem to make the situation any better, at least not for know. Derrick rushes into the room; Massie just looks toward the ground then, and buries her shoulder into his chest, silent tears; he wraps his other arm around her shoulder and lets her cry.

Derrick stands near the fridge, filling a cup of coffee into a ceramic cup, the plastic ones all thrown into a garbage bag months ago when the Block's realized that it wasn't good for the environment, or the publicity, focusing his attention upon the hardwood floor, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Derrick brings the cup to Massie, who sits on one of the seats outside of a hospital room, janitors mopping the floors in the distance while the cold codes ring out in the distance, signaling the stopping of a patient's heart, three floors down. Derrick gives her a gentle smile, knowing that anything any wider would start another set of tears. A long shadow is cast, and before Massie accepts the cup of coffee, a doctor, clad in a white coat with a team of surgeons, looking down at the ohsointersting carpetted floor, acknowledges what had happened.

"I'm so sorry; we tried our hardest," the doctor says, in a monotone voice. "But, we couldn't save her." The doctor shakes his head, continuing down the now full hallway, his clipboard in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

They organize a funeral the next day, all of them clad in black as they set applesauce style on the floor, a top a checkered picnic blanket (because this is what Massie decided upon, and Massie is always right, at least in this type of decision); a butler offers him a glass of orange juice, to which Derrick politely declines, not sure why there's freaking orange juice at the funeral. Massie sits next to one of her friends, Alicia, who weakly pats her friend on the shoulder, sending her into another fit of tears; Derrick stares at the picnic cloth, his knuckles curled into a slight fist, his hand trembling, as his penny brown eyes focus upon the background, a busy city skyline, then coughs; the funeral's "director", directs her attention towards him.

"I'd like to say a few words," he begins. He stands up, brushing down his suit and tie. "She is no longer with us," he continues. "I still remember the first time we met her. Shining black eyes. Such an innocent face, but such a loyal companion. She was with us for a while, and touched our lives. Massie, we'll never forget her." Their short friend circle clenches hands, sorrowed looks, and different expressions splayed across their faces. "Let's pray that Bean finds happiness wherever she goes." He focuses his attention onto the picture frame on top of the coffin, the playful dog in full costume, and almost laughs, then refrains from it. _The timing would not be right._

/ /

Massie sits with a book in one hand, a picture of Bean embedded into the cover of the book, the newest edition of the dog's biography; she is in deep thought upon perching on the bottom of a tree, the tree's height providing supple shade. Derrick on the other hand, stared from above; he would have found this silly, but all he wanted was to see Massie happy once more, like how she had been only three or four days before the tragedy. Days later, it was obvious from certain sighs, to say, that Massie had recovered from the tragedy.

"You're the coward!" she screamed. "Your mother is a coward, and your father, and don't even get me started on your sister." Derrick rushed into the school's courtyard, knowing that he had do something to stop this, before it got anymore out of hand; after all, if one word could be used to describe Derrick's personality, it would be non-violent. He held Massie back, who violently thrashed away from his grip in response. "Derrick, go away!"

Derrick held her back, his face turned towards the opposing crowd, a crew composed of the school's playboy, Kemp Hurley, and his henchmen, standing in their black leather jackets as if this was a 1978 production of Grease, where they were all ready to break into song. "Are you insane, man?" he begged. "Calling Massie a coward?"

"Not her, moron," Kemp replies, shaking his head in disgust. "You!"

He takes a moment to breathe. "Me?" He rolls his eyes, turning back towards the squirming girl. "Then what's the problem, Mass? Kemp, carry on." Derrick spends the next fifteen minutes, worming his way out of a fight with Kemp, knowing that he wouldn't get two minutes past without severe injuries and enough bruises onto his brittle bones so that he would remain hospitalized, chronically. "After this ends, we're cool, right?" he ends, sending a smirk towards his friends' way. Derrick didn't need to fight in order to end a battle.

The six friends end up spending the rest of the weekend day by the coast, sitting on the beach that would never quite be deserted, ignoring the playful giggles of children as they created their own castles, became their own princesses and princes, frolicking through the sand and splashing each other roughly in the water, replacing childish giggles with guffaws and squeals of their own. "After you left, you should have seen Kemp's face," Josh cheered on, standing upon one of the buried sand piles. "He kept staring at his coke, flummoxed," he continued, laughing. "And nobody had the guts to laugh."

He was sitting next to Alicia, who had a cotton candy in one hand, looking remarkably as if it resembled a graduation balloon, an event that hadn't, and wouldn't, happen just quite yet. On the other side of Derrick, who stood in the middle, was Chris Plovert, the newest edition to their group who must have felt in a little awkward being disabled in all, with that cast on his leg from a broken ankle in soccer; below him sat Dylan, a vivacious redhead who, every now and then, glanced down at her cellphone, checking for new text messages, e-mails, and the like.

"But, Derry," Massie remarked, standing near the edge of the water with her arms crossed with the low tide about to come to a close. "You really should have punched that moron at least once; for the fun of it," she remarked, a defensive glare on her face, almost as if she was disappointed with Derrick, her best friend.

"Didn't your mother wash your mouth with soap?" He remarked, too much on a roll to care about other people's feelings being hurt, even if it was unintentional in the first place (isn't it always?). Alicia burst into high-pitched giggles, playfully swatting at Derrick's arm; Dylan only raised an eyebrow, frantically pressing on old-fashioned keys, remarking her newest gossip girl find; who knew that Alicia Rivera would have a thing for Derrick Harrington? "You're so abusive!"

Massie looked back from the bottom of the sea to Derrick. "Whatever," she said. "I've never seen a bigger coward in my life. You wouldn't fight, not even to save a friend?" She looked at him in a pleading way, her amber eyes even larger than ever as she put her newest pair of sunglasses, that pair from the new line, onto her headband and water droplet covered head, her hair less limp that it had been those days previously.

"Kemp is _not _a friend," Derrick emphasized, earning another round of laughter and a hearty clap on the shoulder. "Anyway, he looked like he need more saving from you than you did from him, Mass."

"You're chicken!" Massie insulted, out of nicer things to say, anything to get a reaction. Even though they were friends, the best of friends, it didn't take long for her to become extremely annoyed from his annoying peace-loving attitude; it was worst than Gandhi, in her opinion. At least the old guy's peace loving ways had got him somewhere; Derrick's peace-loving attitude got him nowhere but out of fights and with free cups of various soda drinks, sometimes from the bar, sometimes at school.

Alicia almost looked shocked, offended, as if Massie was insulting her, not Derrick. "You're insulting, Derry!" She sounded like a whiny toddler.

"Don't call him Derry, Leesh," she replied, this time, her voice almost on edge, as if she was going to throw a bitch fight, right then, right now, at least in a few minutes, and then when would it end; the answer to that depended on who aggravated her, and how much time she had to spin away with the whole file of comebacks, stored somewhere in the back of her brain. "Only _I_ call him that."

"Stop it, Leesh!" Josh yelled, attracting the attention of surfer boys and surfer chicks included, who stared at the boy, who was currently looking down at the very interesting sand, trying to get everybody's eyes off of him; he was never one for attention. "What?" he looked up, innocent eyes showing, his fickle mind flashing of what to say in response. "She was just picking a fight with Massie."

Dylan, in the corner, shook her head —she knew everything about everyone, especially how Josh had liked Massie since the time that he had transferred from that boarding school in the midst of a different continent, all the way back in seventh grade. "Wait, Derrick?" Massie asked. "So if somebody raised their hand on me, if somebody was going to hurt me, it wouldn't make any difference, right? If somebody wanted to get into a squabble of physical abuse, it wouldn't matter, right?"

"Right," he replied, looking confused at the question.

Within a moment, Massie had left the beach, tears falling from her amber eyes, and the worst part was that Derrick didn't even know what he had done wrong; and Alicia left almost instantly, following her alpha and queen like the loyal friend that she was. "You really screwed up this time, Derrick," Dylan ended, leaving as well. "I'm not sure how you're going to fix it, but you'd better do it soon."

* * *

**a/n: what do you think? good? bad? should I continue? please leave a review and let me know :) **

**have an awesome day, everyone (:**


	2. deux

**a/n: thanks for all the amazing reviews you guys left me :) teehee, oh and the alerts and favorites too(: this is a five-shot, so this story thing will probably be over before you know it. so... yeah :) also, i don't own anything!**

**deux**

If you were anybody at the time, you would have ended up at the Block's house by the end of that night. There was music booming loudly from the inside, the parents had left hours earlier and there weren't any police reports of complaints from neighbors, as of yet, so the crowd inside decided to live a little —blasting the speakers as high as they would possibly go was just one of the ways. Cars pulled up periodically, girls dancing and laughing, their escorts already half-drunk from the bottles of Anjou that were handed out at the door, as if they were party favors at a child's birthday party. The whole mansion was decorated from the attic to the basement in lights, as if this was Christmas, extravagant ormentations and banners already pulled down from the ceiling by the more rowdy members of the evening. Inside of the mansion, however, it seemed as though the drama was just about to begin. People were dancing the night away, some notorious long-distance couples reunited for the night, and the next few days, while others starting jumping and swaying their arms, punching their fists into lamps which fell and broke quickly, as if that was the only way they knew how to dance.

After all, these were the elite, the young and beautiful of Westchester, the Upper East Side, yet their parties still were considered childish. Then again, this party was organized by Massie Block and her mother —it was a tradition that they had been doing for the last ten years or so; nobody else was _so freaking paranoid_ that they could find a way for each and every person to beg for an invite, or find someone who would manage to distract those guys who smelled like rotten fruit from arriving in the first place. This one, however, had been entirely her own.

Nevertheless, Massie found herself seated next to a few friends on the sidelines; a _hotter version_ of Dempsey Solomon was sitting on her right, eagerly looking back between new updates on his boosted cell phone and into the crowd, in a yearning manner, until Massie pushed him into the music herself, sick with the type of glances that he would give that way. On the other hand, Josh looked a little out of place with the Ralph Lauren tuxedo and freshly polished leather shoes, while the rest of the males in the room were dressed casually, some even sporting Hawaiian styled shirts and boxer shorts, just for the fun of it. He made his way across the room, awkwardly, falling _at least_ a dozen times before he made his way to the balcony, where Massie and another girl, by the name of Heather, were eagerly discussing the latest fashion trends, flipping through the pages of Vogue faster than the speed of light to become the world's next fashion moguls.

"Josh, where were you when were talking about yesterday?" Massie exclaimed, loudly, pulling up a chair for him to sit. She had an enthralled expression on her face as she put away the Vogue magazines, bookmarking the pages she had preferred to look over the others with expired purple streaks, "We were just talking about that fight the other day —y'know the one that Derrick," she said his name in an exasperated voice. "_Never_ bothered to start. Check out the claw marks that Heather got from the crowd."

She motioned towards the claw marks, which looked more like mascara chains that were currently looking very normal compared to the rest of Heather's clownish make-up, a new trend perhaps. Josh finally decided to speak up, "Let's dance, Mass." On the other hand, Massie raised an eyebrow, pulling back one of the April editions of the magazine back out, and flipping through the pages until she came to a page where Josh could obviously see the article, _How To Friend Zone a Guy Friend,_ making the situation just a little more awkward.

"Dance, with you?" Massie took a deep breath. "Josh? Josh, my sweet Josh," she said, almost in a sickly saccharine voice. "If I start dancing, the entire party will shift to the garden." And, though nobody would want to admit that the alpha —though, not the bitchy one that they had left behind in high school, was officially the world's _worst _dancer; shaking your hands up and down and harming those around you, instead of yourself, wasn't the best way to start off any normal party, especially not one in this type of location.

Josh walked away, head hanging, rejected, and for a moment, Massie almost felt bad about the situation but she knew that she had absolutely _no romantic feelings _for Joshua Abrams since the day that he had moved from that Swedish boarding school to Westchester, all the way back in seventh grade. The music started to slow down, and a break was given; there weren't usually breaks, but apparently something was wrong with the stereo: something like that. "Hey, Derrick? Dance with me?" Alicia asked in a sweet voice, bouncing up and down on her fluorescent pink high heels, which didn't even compare to those neon green nails.

"Yeah, sure; one sec, Leesh," Derrick didn't even bother to cast a second glance Alicia's way, who looked a little disappointed as tears started to form in her eyes. The worst thing about being friends with somebody like Massie Block was that she was so _freaking perfect_ —all the guys, even her best friend, wanted to be with her and all the girls wanted to be her, but the worst part was that it was impossible to hate her. She was the sweetest friend that any person could have, but sometimes, Alicia just wished that Massie was the same lycra-bitch that she had been back in middle school; everything had been a _whole lot _easier back then.

Derrick, on the other hand, was making his way to the balcony, and by some unknown reason, to Massie. "Come on, Mass. You've been giving me excuses since we got here —first, you had a sprained ankle, then you were too busy catching up with supposed friends, even though you haven't talked to Heather since that showdown in third grade, and last, you had a phone call from China? If you don't dance now, you're never going to dance in your life."

_Yeah, I don't really have a problem with that, _Massie thought to herself, a little grimly. She took a breath, motioning with her hands in a frantic manner. "Breaking news, Derry! I can't dance."

Taking her thumbs up, to make it a thumbs down, Derrick smiled a little. "Yeah, right, Mass. I'm sure that you can dance. The only person here, tonight that can't dance, well. You'll have to see it to believe it. Somebody here is a whole lot worse at dancing than you are —a fact that _even I found hard to believe._" Massie playfully slapped him on the shoulder as he dragged her out onto the dance floor; maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Sure enough, for once in his lifetime, Massie agreed that Derrick had been right. It had been a lot of fun —after she realized that the whole point of dancing on the floor was to wear some sort of comfortable shoes, because not all of them could be like Alicia who had the innate ability to dance in any kind of footwear, whether it was pointe shoes or the five-inch stilettos that she was currently prancing around in. There was a boy, who was wearing a green shirt and bright pink skinny jeans, and Massie wasn't sure what was worse: the fact that the boy thought that he was able to dance, or the fact that he nearly blinded everybody with his clothing choices.

Josh, on the other hand, was sitting at the bar. "I'll take another glass," he murmured to the bartender, looking a little disgruntled as if he couldn't wait to get into a fight. What was he even thinking, though? From the moment that Massie and Derrick had dated in seventh grade, all the way to her new boyfriend in eighth grade, they were called Westchester's power couple; they would always belong to each other, even if they were with someone else. The bartender passed over the glass; Josh eagerly drank the shot, and gave it back. "I'll take another, one. Make it strong," he continued.

"Take it easy, pal," the bartender only said, looking a little worried. Josh had already taken at least five shots since he had arrived at the small bar, set up at the outskirts of the mansion's party a few minutes ago, and had drank more wine than all of the people who weren't completely wasted.

Josh slurped up the other glass of swirling liquid as easily as he had swallowed the first, passing the glass back to a disgruntled bartender who went to serve another customer, who didn't like quite as depressed as his previous one. From the back, Alicia approached Josh, a brilliant smile on her face. "What's up, Josh?" she asked, sitting down on the stool next to him. "Tell me." She was aware that something was wrong —nobody drank those many shots without something terrible happening in their life, and the everlasting need to drown out your sorrows in drinks and shots starts coming in, and then it never leaves.

"Just sometimes," he pats her on the shoulder, "—I wish that I had someone."

"Had whom?" Alicia pushes back his arm, which was resting on his shoulder, and drinks a glass of ice cold water; it stays in her throat, and for a moment, it's almost a relaxing feeling until she almost chokes over it, but conceals it with a light giggle. After all, that's what the Rivera family does best: pretend. She's pretended for a long time ago, and for a while, Alicia's also worried just when her secrets would come out; _secrets, secrets are no fun, unless you share them with everyone, _echoes in her head, the sight of playful children playing jump rope while others hold hands, shouting the melody in cacophonous, yet still sweet saccharine voices.

He takes a breath. "Just, someone." Josh looks back at her. "Just someone who really just likes me, and I only like her, and it's like," he raises his hands, and slumps his shoulders once again. "_Nothing_ else matters in the world; y'know, what I mean? Just like Massie and Derrick."

The two of them focus their attention on the two best friends, who sit by the balcony, easily bickering over, well, anything, as she playfully throws his arm off her shoulder and he smiles, and it's so perfect; what's not there to be jealous of?

"Me, too," Alicia replies, and Josh looks back at her, just for a moment, as their eyes focus. She closes the distance in between them, and sparks fly —the rest of the day spins away, and nothing else matters. He tastes like poison and wine, and she smells like lavender mint, the smell of her shampoo, and their lips entwined, it's like this was meant to be. They pull back, shyly smiling at each other and then refocus their attention upon their glasses, and it's like nothing had happened if there wasn't the _ohsoheavy_ blush on both of their cheeks.

In the corner, Dylan smiles —matchmaking was _definitely_ a lot more fun that studying for exams.

/ /

It's a sleek car; not one of those Range Rovers from back then in middle school, but one of those limousines that some people just usually hire for getting to a party or perhaps one of those typical UES girls' night's out. Derrick sits shotgun, looking a little weary as he undoes his tie; next to him, Massie is pressing on the brakes, furiously, one hand on the wheel, and the other pulling off an obnoxious bobby pin that scratches into her scalp every now and then. "Even Mom and Dad are worried —and they barely notice anything, not even the fact that I haven't used Isaac in years. Dune just stays in his room, all day long. It's like; it's like he doesn't care about anything anymore; he doesn't sleep, he doesn't work—"

"He paints," Derrick interrupts, remembering something that he had seen a few weeks previous to the current date; Dune had been walking to the art supply store, and picked up a few shipments from France. It had to be good for something if he was wasting all his allowance money on painting supplies.

"Yeah, right," Massie replied, rolling her eyes. "Like, seriously, Derry, I think he needs a psychiatrist," Massie mentioned casually, as though the matter was the most carefree thing in the world; almost as if she was talking about how she would rather spend her allowance money for a new shoe closet rather than buying thirteen pairs of shoes and having no idea where to put them.

"He's sharper than all of us," Derrick only said, taking his eyes off his cell phone, which kept on flashing green lights and playing happy birthday music, his ring tone for new emails, which seemed to never end; though, most of them were spam.

"Are you serious, Derrick?" Massie takes her eyes off the road for a millisecond. "He insults you more than anyone else."

"Yes —to get a reaction," Derrick looks back at Massie, then out of the window, frowning a little. There was a man standing at the edge of the road, holding a flourescent sign for a new restaurant, the taco town place that had just opened down the street; he had been there a few times, with his father, and trust his opinion that if one ever wants to go to a taco town, go to a place that doesn't just sell homemade macademia nut cookies and fake taco sauce, which was just ketchup. The store still made a lot of money, though; if any food business opened up on the Upper East Side, they were bound to make at least a million dollars per year, if not more. "Out of you," he finishes.

_Why would I care? _Massie thinks to herself. "I don't care, about that Derrick. Anyway," she begins, mischeviously. "Did you hear what people were saying about Josh and Alicia?" He doesn't seem to care, not even nodding his hand. "Apparently, they kissed at midnight, and they didn't stop for an _entire minute! _Isn't that so romantic?"

"Seriously, Mass? That's your idea of romantic?" Derrick asks. "A relationship shouldn't always be about the physical things; it matters about the chemistry, if these two people are right for each other. You wouldn't know what _that meant,_ a proper relationship if it was sitting right next to you."

Massie sighs. "I'd rather not think about, it thanks," she replies, dodging the taxi and honking loudly at it, swerving throughout the street until a police officer honks at her, telling her that she needed to slow down. "I swear, Derrick, if you talk to me about a proper relationship, ever again —it will be the last thing that you do; and, this time," she fixes him with a strong glare, "—I mean it."

"It's been _four_ years," Derrick emphasizes, not letting go of the topic; it's been bugging her for ages, he's realized, that everybody else has someone perfect with them and then she's just cast to the sidelines. "—sine you dated that guy; what was his name? Crane?"

"Landon." Massie rolls her eyes, in exasperation. "How do you not remember Landon Crane; he was the last person that you chose all the way back in high school for the basketball team, and he only made it because he fit Kemp's requirements; that he should be able to have at least thirteen girlfriends throughout the years of high school, and wear manly clothing." She breaks into a fit of laughter, remembering that Kemp Hurley's idea of manly clothing was his favorite shirt, _You've Got Male._

Minutes later, they pull up in front of Derrick's dormitory building, where there's still sounds of laughter and drunk people roaming the streets, laughing as if they were high on something and were never going to fall down. "Listen, Derrick; I'll pick you up for college, tomorrow, okay?""Really?" He asks, his tone inquisitive, and then her hands start to tremble, remembering that college is over; it's dead and gone, and it's just never going to happen again, and she did have the best time, it was the time of their our lives, but she didn't want it to be _over. Finished. Dead. _And for a moment, Massie couldn't even remember the good times, because all she really cared about was the fact that it was over and she would never be going back —ever.

/ /

Dune was sitting on one of the Block's comfier chairs, his legs propped up upon the coffee table. Outside of their summer home, there were skyscrapers and buildings with heavy pollution in the far distance but all the way at the Block's summer home, it was hard to hear the city noises, even if you tried. There was a fountain in the courtyard, the shape of a lion, a gift from the family's closer friends, the Lyons', who had lived with them during middle school and a small part of high school. Workers filed out of their homes down the street, and wormed their way into the family kitchen, preparing extravagant meals for both the guests and the original family, who always needed nothing but the best.

Inside of the house, Dune had moved to a brown chair, enveloping his lanky frame, next to a floral lamp that had been purchased in China on last year's family excursion during the spring break; he was sketching something on his pad, a small smile forming on his face. Dune was wearing a bright yellow shirt, and one of his pierced ears displayed a gold hoop; the rest of his hair was short and trimmed neatly, as if somebody professional had done it, something that everybody on the UES knew that Dune wouldn't have let done.

He let out a low whistle, "The suit rented, or was it your dad's?" Dune focused his attention on Derrick, setting his sketchpad down; he's seen Derrick before, in his house, countless times; usually, it's in a casual shirt, just like the one he was wearing himself, and a pair of rugged jeans, and it reminds me how everybody else in the world, beside him, even those who are four years younger then him, are getting serious about their lives, about their jobs.

"It's hard for everyone to have your style," Derrick only replied, taking a seat down on the couch. It was one of the more worn pieces of furniture in the Block's home, yet even though the edges of it were frayed, it smelled like strawberries and everything homely in the world, something Derrick had yet to get used to.

Dune pushed the coffee table away, and stood up. "Man, tell me something. You're always _ever so sweet,"_ he said in a high-pitched voice, resembling the one of a soprano, "—so polite; don't you ever get bored of yourself?" He leans forward, and props his legs back up on the coffee table, taking a long swig of a bottle of Sprite, resting in the corner of the family room; it was large and spacious, though Dune had remodeled this place, like his own bedroom on the third floor, to fit his tastes.

"Dune, shut up!" Massie screamed; she was running down the stairs, and nearly tripped down the last few steps, and brushed herself off after she had picked herself off the floor, with no help needed. Massie was wearing a velour tracksuit, the color baby blue, which looked as though it was one size too big on her, in both ways; she wasn't exactly the tallest person in the world, at around five feet and seven inches, though she always had the habit of wearing extra high heels, in order to gain those extra inches that she had lost from genetics.

"Your bodyguard's here," Dune only said, frowning a little at the appearance of his little sister. "Don't say anything to Derry! Poor baby will feel hurt," he said in a mocking voice, half-imitating the mockingbird, and half-imitating Massie's valley-girl accent.

Derrick thought it was slightly amusing; Massie didn't think the same. "Dune, I'm warning you," she said in a threatening manner, approaching him; Derrick was the only one in the room, besides the butler, who could see the pillow that Massie clenched in her right palm, holding it behind her back as if she was an animal, ready to pounce on whoever and whatever aggravated her. "I didn't say _a thing last night_."

"Really?" Dune asked, standing up. "Come out, you jerk! Open the door. I'll show you, you dog!" This voice was even worse than before, complete Valley-girl accent, and for a moment, Derrick knew that he was pushing Massie way too much; on the other hand, he was curious about what Dune was trying to imply. Moments later, Massie rushed over to Dune, and started whacking him with the pillow, slapping him senseless; he did the same, back, looking like an evil mastermind at work. Derrick texted a few numbers, and within a few minutes, the siblings' father, William Block, was running down the stairs, complete in his suit and tie attire.

"Stop it! Stop it, Massie. Dune. What on earth, is wrong with the two of you?"

"He started it!" Massie said in protest, pushing Dune to the floor one last time, and wincing a little when his head made contact with the carpet; he mimed dead before springing back on her again.

"I don't care _who started it. _I don't care if the Pope started it, or if the President himself started these spats that you've been having," Mr. Block reprimanded, his voice lower than before. "We have a guest at home —try to at least _act _like humane individuals, instead of mere savages." Looking back at Derrick, he smiled, "Come, Derrick, let's go somewhere else and talk." In the background, Derrick could see that Massie and Dune had resumed their fight as soon as their father had left, and grinned a little to himself; some habits never got old.

/ /

**a/n: AU! this story is so much fun to write :DD i think that i'll probably be updating this a lot more often, since it's nearly going to be over, so please follow for updates! okay, let me know what you think and please review? also, it doesn't look like it, but this chapter's four thousand words, :)**

** Anyway, thanks for the reviews guys! I didn't expect this much of a response. I thought I would be extracting reviews like pulling teeth. But guys, ****10 **out of 384 (visitors, only)people reviewed the first chapter. I don't want to do the math, but I'm still excited. Keep it up guys. (Although, if some of those **374 **other readers want to review, even anonymously, I'd be cool with it. :D)

review for a preview?  
—clara


	3. trois

**a/n: wow, so wow. thanks so so so so so much for all the reviews, they totally made my day :D so, i'm going to avoid doing my homework (prep for school starting/c2) to type this chapter :) i know what you're thinking, ****_procrastination tsk_****! but procrastination actually gets results for me :) 3,050 words, so hope you like this length; it's a little short, i know, but i'll try to make further chapters longer. any preferred length?**

**here we go:**

**trois**

Derrick's met his best friend's parents before — just never in a situation like that. They're dressed in their fanciest clothing; he knows because Massie and him used to raid their parent's closets when they were younger, on dares that were much simpler than joyrides. He's standing beneath a slight hut with the lush trees growing near the neatly trimmed lawn, the sound of golf balls being hit smoothly across the trimmed grass; the air smells of success, something that Derrick hopes will come from this visit. He focuses on William and Kendra, and gives them a firm handshake as William claps him on the shoulders before they all sit down; he's facing across from them and refuses the urge to nervously fidget his hands around the itchy suit.

"So, you're going to interview me together?" Derrick speaks up; the question sounds rude enough, but with all the thoughts floating through his troubled mind, it's the most logical, non-gibberish thing that makes sense to say. There's a moment of silence in which Derrick wonders if he should take the moment to apologize, but he loses the opportunity soon enough.

William laughs, a hearty guffaw sounding, "Interview? What do you mean, _an interview_?" Derrick tries to stay calm, instead looking at the orchids growing slowly behind William and Kendra, focusing on their tendency to stretch towards the sunlight, which only reminds him of sunflowers and success (because they both begin with an s), and this interview. Ever since he had received the internship at Block and Co. in the first year of high school, Massie had reassured him that he would be welcome to the family as soon as they graduated from college, which was now; and this interview, meant everything: a make it or break it move was about to be made. Kendra pats William on the shoulder, gently, and he stops laughing, a more serious expression crossing his face and he clasps his hands together and sets down the crumpled pieces of paper in his right hand.

"Do you know why you're here," William says, leaning forward on the edge of his chair, "—Derrick?"

Derrick nods, muttering a simple yes underneath his breath — loud enough from them to hear it, but not too loud to make it seem like this interview is something that he's taking for granted; after all that would be much worse than being under confident, right? — and both William and Kendra smile, settling back into their seats and he knows that he must have done something right to reassure them again.

Kendra decides to speak up, "So, are you ready?" She looks nervous, and Derrick notices the amber eyes than Kendra has, the very same fiery ones that he's stared into several times with Massie. They're beautiful, he realizes; he's known this for a long time, but never really thought about his best friend's eyes. Snapping himself out of his uncalled for thoughts, Derrick thinks before speaking. "Yes," he nods. Kendra and William smile even broader, if that was possible in the first place, and William lowers his thin-rimmed black glasses, replacing the contact lenses as if he's nervous.

"I mean," Derrick continues, "—I'm thinking about getting an MBA, but I guess that _can happen later_." He's thought about these things for a while, and an opportunity to be working at one of the best business companies in the world, Block and Co., is something too good to not accept.

She smiles, "_YesyesyesYES_. Why not?" For a moment, Derrick thinks that Kendra is too excited about the situation, because after all, she doesn't even work in the company, but maybe if she's this enthralled about the acceptance, maybe this means that the position that Massie had been telling him about for years was something worth waiting for. "Are you sure, though?"

"Yes," he replies, a broad grin spilling across his face. "I have to do something to get money, right?"

Kendra and William exchange nervous glances, and Derrick wonders if his statement was wrong but it seems as though it was too late to take it back by the times the word had carelessly spilled out of his mouth. "For _money?" _William emphasized, almost furious about the key word.

"Not just for money," Derrick rethinks, still looking quite casual with the beaming whites exposed. "It's for the status; after all, it's going to really make my name bigger throughout the Upper East Side, and the success won't even end there. I mean, it's going to be an amazing opportunity, and how could I not take something like that up?" The beginning salary was already around 500 grand, according to what William had told Derrick a few years back. Right now, though, neither of them were looking too happy with the words Derrick was saying.

"But, Derrick," Kendra says, "—is money _that important_? And what about your mother?"

He sighs. "I'm not just doing this for money. I wouldn't be happy, overly satisfied with my entire life if I was just doing this for money; I'd really love moving in with you guys." Apparently, all of the employees lived somewhere one of the Block's various estates, on call as if they were surgeons. "My mother, both of my parents are really delighted. They've been waiting for this day. It's going to be my first one, and hopefully, one of many."

Massie approaches slowly from behind, "Hey, guys! How's it going?"

She's carrying a camera in one hand, and recording the conversation from the back, giggling a little as she records Derrick's disgruntled face; _Mister Grumpypants. _"Massie darling, Derrick's quite honest with me —which, I completely appreciate; but he seems to be doing this just for money," William says, clearing his breath and nervously replacing his glasses for the second time in the short conversation. Massie sits up a little straighter from a disapproving gesture from her mother, but still looks obviously confused.

Derrick sighs; he's had to repeat this too many times. "Obviously, I'm doing this for money. So what?" Yes, there were other factors involved in having a job but when you were working with the toast of the UES society, things were bound to revolve around the yearly salary and perks.

"And, after marriage, he wants to live with us," Kendra continued, in a shocked manner; though there were families internationally who kept their children living with them after marriage, it wasn't the custom in places such as New York. "Do you even understand..."

"Oh my god."

Kendra's eyes narrowed as a sudden thought struck her. "Unless this means that you have different interests for marriage, and I don't really understand what this is even about now..."

"OH MY GOD." Derrick looks like something deranged, his eyes lighting up as if this was one of those ancient cartoons where the lightbulb popped up over the character's head when a sudden realization was made, so Massie's the one to utter the next coherent statement. "Marriage; whose marriage? Who's going to be living with us?" Massie questioned, raising one eyebrow in confusion. She set down her camera on the dining table, ignoring the scratches that came from the camera sliding across the rough, bruised edges and placed both hands on her cinched belt, demanding an answer.

There are certain glances of the amber and brown eyes mixing in bewilderment across the dining table, some of them looking shiftily away because this is not what they had expected when they had called Derrick over, to speak about something — which was most definitely _not an interview _— and then everything got out of hand.

That's when Massie realized what her parents were speaking about, and almost doubled over in laughter before realizing that the look on her parent's faces were actually quite serious. "Wait, Derrick? You want to marry me?" The notion was almost as ridiculous as the time that she had dated that British douchebag back in high school, and let him come back into her life even after he had shown up at her doorstep with something as horrible as a bouquet of wilted roses. But right now, accepting said douchebag to be her boyfriend again was making more sense than the conversation that was occurring between her parents and her best friend.

_Her best friend; nothing more than just her BEST FRIEND_, she thought angrily just a tad confused about the whole scene that was being set up before her very eyes, everything going away in flashes. "Oh shit, shit, shit," Massie swears loudly, not even caring if her parents hear her doing something so not Block like.

Then, Derrick realizes that this really wasn't about an interview the whole time, and suspects now that only Massie's parents were involved in the matter, because he's not going to marry Massie; he's never even thought about marriage all this time and they're only twenty two to twenty three years old, and they haven't even finished graduate school or law school, and they're already thinking about marriage; and out of all people, no offense to Massie, why should he marry her; "Hold on, hold on," he tries to take a deep breath without being interrupted, "—who said anything about _marriage?"_

_"What have we_ been talking about," William splutters, looking quite confused by the way that Massie and Derrick are slowly inching away from each other on the couch, until the very edge where both of them are about to fall off and make complete fools of themselves. "We were talking about marriage, right? What else?'

"A job!" Derrick exclaimed; this wasn't even making any sense. There was this man who had asked him to buy some chickens and Jolly Ranchers over the phone along with a free bottle of scotch — long story short, college pranks — and that was making a whole load more sense than this nonsense. It seemed surreal as everything unfolded, and Derrick realized that from the very first words that Kendra and William spoke, they weren't talking about a job.

William stood up angrily, "A job?" It was more out of confusion than anger, perhaps, and then it looked like he was trying to think deeply without spluttering. "What job?"

"Didn't you say that when I graduated from undergraduate years, I could get some sort of position at Block and Co.? That was at least what Massie had told me, and the only reason why had come here in the first place! I thought that you were talking about that along, that was why I had come in the first place, and now I'm wearing this itchy suit and you're talking about my marriage details?" Derrick doesn't care about sounding rude — everything's going too quickly to understand.

Now both of them are sitting on the couch, inching away even farther than before until Derrick topples over, and then stumbles back into his seat, looking strangely at Massie as if he's thinking something different about her than just being best friends and then reassures himself that his mind is playing crazy tricks on him, because that could be the only proper solution, right? "How could you think this?" Massie exclaimed at her parents, pulling out some of her hair in frustration, weakly almost.

"What were we supposed to think?" Kendra exclaims; she feels as though maybe this was the wrong time to bring up the matter — after all, both of them were barely past their early twenties and maybe this wasn't even the right setting. "You two are perfect for each other; you're always together at each other's houses, or talking over the phone, or on hangouts, at parties and clubs downtown. Glued together at the hip, ever since seventh grade, for ten years, so we had to—"

"Did you ever _consider asking me_?" Massie questioned, a little furious about her parents were drawing assumptions about this. They should have asked her before calling over Derrick — and she would have immediately denied the request; so would he, more politely than her, however — and everything would be settled.

"It's okay," Derrick says quickly, trying to calm Massie down; she squirms away from his touch. "It's okay that you felt this way, Mr. and Mrs. Block, but I think personally that it's a little too early to be thinking about marriage. Thanks for asking us, but there's no "us"," he motions, quickly.

Kendra sighs, looking upset over the whole matter, obviously trying to guilt trip the both of them into marrying as soon as possible. She sighs, trying to think of the right words; after all these years in which Massie's manipulated her, she'd thought that she would have something, but nothing came to mind about the topic of marriage. "But, the two of you, Massie and Derrick, you really don't want to marry—"

"MOM!" Massie exclaimed, looking as though she was about to burst into tears and have a nervous breakdown, maybe both at the same time and Kendra was finally aware that she was pushing the situation too far. Maybe, they could bring up the matter another time, because this wasn't going to be the end of the discussion of marriage. Her daughter was already twenty two years old, and why wait when there was a perfect match right before her blind eyes?

/

So, the little group of friends that they have; they all go out that night. Massie's standing in front of the mirror, admiring the new set of diamond earrings that Derrick had given to her as a birthday present a few weeks back while wondering if they were still too old to do a rating system; they totally were. Various expressions are splayed across her friends' faces; she dons an Alice + Olivia, Gracie leather sleeve dress, that cuts itself off around mid thigh, paired with a pair of her favorite strappy slingbacks, that she later replaces with simple vermilion high heels, a trademark color; her chestnut curls are contained with a light amount of hairspray placed upon them, the problem of heat control none of her business.

They walk quickly through the entrance to the club — just showing their faces is enough of a guarantee to be admitted; the eyes widen of the person admitting them, and they're immediately ushered it. Massie can't help but smile, not even bothering to wonder what life without VIP and first class tickets would be like, though she's already made quite a reputation for herself without her last name needing to be mentioned.

Alicia tapped her on the shoulder, suddenly, and she quickly turned around only to see two middle aged men, around their early twenties who were riding on horses, getting weird glances from the rest of the teenagers and young adults who were coming out of their cars in this Modern, not Western movie scene, life. Nevertheless, Massie couldn't help but stare in awe but stopped her jaw-gaping enough to turn around, and walk into the club, the sound of the booming music already loud enough from outside of the location. She can still look behind her shoulder and see them asking the valet to park their horses and given them some water; she can't help but give a smug grin.

"Did two guys just come _on horseback_ to the club?" Derrick asks; he's never looked more confused in his life, and keeps on turning back and forth between the Western riders who were walking towards the middle of the club, the crowd already splitting to make way for them and the rest of his friends. He shrugs; nobody responds, "Well, c'mon, guys! Let's go."

There are people carrying each other near the middle, the music pounding in her ears and Massie feels the beginning of a killer migraine, or even a severe headache setting in near her temples, and makes sure to keep her fake smile on when some bitch tries stepping on her heel, and trying to break it — thankfully, nothing happens, and she slips back into her shoe with the grace of a model — nothing unusual, however. There are spiked punch bowls near the outskirts of the dance club, and some looming shadows from backstage, a band playing loudly for live entertainment on one side, while the DJ plays something even louder to mask the country music from the other side of the room.

Derrick and Massie have already made their way to the bar at the back of the room; everybody who's sitting there, even the drunk teenage boy who looks like he's about to drown his sorrows in Coca Cola and mineral water clears out. Derrick points to one of the guys standing near the center of the room, with the kooky looking sunglasses and she recognizes him as Dempsey Solomon, the boy that she had wanted to start a multi-culti family with back in eighth grade, and shakes her head fervently; it was a game that the two of them had created ever since they had started going to parties like this, trying to set each other up with dates.

And then, Derrick sees _her._

_._

_Jealous Massie coming up in the next chapter; Derrick's going to find a girl, and *hint, hint* she's going to become his girlfriend, :) There's going to overall Massington, but can you guess who the girl is? It's going to be a canon character, but one of the main Clique characters who isn't Massie, Dylan, or Alicia. Please leave a review on your way out, :)_

_x clara_


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